


this is me trying

by lodgedinmythoughts



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Bucky and His Knives, Bucky and a kitten - Freeform, Crushes, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Ficlets, Fluff, Halloween Candy, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, Literal Sleeping Together, Neighbors, Protective Bucky Barnes, Pumpkin carving, Stargazing, Stuck on the Rooftop, Tattoos, Wisdom Teeth, Worried Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26766940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lodgedinmythoughts/pseuds/lodgedinmythoughts
Summary: -OPEN FOR PROMPTS-A collection of Steve/Reader and Bucky/Reader ficlets.1) Intro2) Halloween Candy || Steve3) Neighbors || Steve4) Pretend Girlfriend || Steve5) New Pet || Bucky6) Comfort || Steve7) Pumpkin Carving || Bucky8) "I'm Fine" || Bucky9) Tattoo || Steve10) Wisdom Teeth || Bucky11) Stuck on the Rooftop || Steve & Bucky12) Young Again || Steve**to come
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 63
Kudos: 110





	1. Intro

All right, so...I'm doing it (again). The main reason I don't usually take requests is because I know I'll let the pressure and stress of delivering get to me, but I've been in the middle of such a dearth of fics lately that it's driving me insane. I have so many random, barely started AUs floating around on my laptop with no earthly idea where to take them, SO I'm opening myself up to prompts again in the hopes that I'll write and actually finish _something_.

If interested, please leave your prompts in the comments and:

-Request Steve/Female Reader OR Bucky/Female Reader and specify which character you prefer  
-Request prompts that can be fulfilled with a simple drabble or ficlet. It's possible the product might turn out a little longer, but in general I'm aiming for these to be short, like under 1k words.  
-No prompts that center solely around smut. It's possible some of the fics might contain a little smut if it fits, and I'll mark the ones that are more explicit if that's the case, but most of them will likely be rated G or T.

Unfortunately, there's no guaranteeing when I'll actually post them. I'll try to do them as swiftly as I can, though. I'll also reference your username if you have one in the chapter summary and copy & paste your prompt. This will probably be an ongoing thing if I get enough requests, but if/when it's marked as complete, that'll mean it's closed for prompts.

Thanks, guys! Really looking forward to your ideas!! (And nervous as hell!)

And yes, the title is a random reference to a Taylor Swift song but also a pretty good summary of what I'm doing here. 🙃


	2. Halloween Candy || Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Zyxst: "How about Steve/Reader arguing over how much Halloween candy to buy? Reader keeps putting bags of candy in the shopping cart, but Steve keeps taking them out. Playful & fluffy arguing, nothing super serious."

“Really? Five bags?” Steve looked down at the Warheads in the cart.

“Three for the party, two for me,” you said.

“A little overkill, don’t you think?”

“No. These went real quick last year.”

“I meant for you.”

You smiled as you plopped the last bag in the cart. “No such thing as overkill when it comes to my Warheads.”

He picked up a bag and inspected it. “You know these things are torture for your teeth, right? And I mean more so than your average candy.”

“Let me indulge for once, will you? Anyway, you’re just mad ’cause no one ate the Raisinets you picked out last year.”

“Yeah, right.”

“But that’s okay, it just meant more for me. Oh, I forgot to get the peanut butter cups. Can you go get the milk and eggs?”

You headed back for the candy aisle, passing another one of the candy displays that had been put out in the general areas of the store for the upcoming holiday. On impulse, you grabbed another giant pack of Nerds and turned to where Steve was somewhere behind you on his way to the dairy section. You ignored the look he gave you when you tossed the box into the cart.

When you eventually came back with a multitude of peanut butter cups, SweeTarts, sour gummy worms, and Jolly Ranchers, Steve gave you another look.

“I really don’t think you need that much.”

“Not going to argue with that.” Of course you didn’t need them, but you both knew you certainly wanted them.

As you were placing the candy in the cart, something caught your attention.

“Hey, did you put some of the Warheads back?”

“What?”

“I know you put them back. There were five when I got them.” Now there were only two.

“What?” he said. “I didn’t do it. You must’ve miscounted when you got them.”

He was unbelievable.

You cut him an annoyed glance, not saying anything, and returned to the candy aisle. When you found him again by the bread, you re-stacked the Warheads in the cart. Then something else caught your attention.

“Seriously, Steve?”

He briefly glanced over from where he was perusing the bread. “What?”

“I wanted those Jolly Ranchers. I got them for a reason.”

“Six bags’ worth of reasons?”

“You—ugh! They’re for the party, not me. And it’s not like I’m going to eat them all at once. I know how to ration, you know.”

“Other people are pitching in, too. We really don’t need that much.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Says the woman buying enough candy to get an entire army high on sugar.”

You ignored him and went back to the candy aisle. This time, he wasn’t far behind. He rolled the cart forward patiently, watching as you scanned the items on the shelf. When you placed an extra bag of Jolly Ranchers back in the cart, you watched him warily, waiting for him to say something. He did nothing.

Satisfied, you turned around and picked out a bag of Airheads. Placed them in the cart without looking. Picked out some KitKats. Placed them in the cart. Picked out some Starburst. Placed them in the cart.

Except when you turned back around, you found that for every new item you’d placed in the cart, one of the others was missing.

“Steve! Are you kidding me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, that’s it!” You shooed him away. “Go. I’m commandeering the cart. You go get what you need and come find me.”

“That serious, huh?”

You splayed a hand on his chest to keep him back. “Go. You’re not allowed near this cart anymore.”

He wrapped his hand around the one on his chest, pushing back. “Does this mean no Hershey’s Kisses tonight?”

“Yes, in every meaning of the term. Goodbye.”

He released your hand and turned in the other direction, fighting back a smile.

If he wanted any candy of his own that night, he was going to have to work extra hard for it.


	3. Neighbors || Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For sophiria: "Can I request friends (or strangers if it's better for the plot) to lovers + neighbours + Endgame!Steve? I'm a sucker for the post-Endgame scenarios where our man is still around. 🥺"

He was there again.

The man out of time. The soldier. The one who, by secondhand accounts, had gone head to head with a freaking alien army and, more importantly, Thanos, the one who’d been responsible for the Blip at the beginning of it all.

Steve Rogers.

After the world had slowly returned to some semblance of normality—as normal as anything could be after what happened—he’d retired, had willingly passed on the shield, having had his fill of war. Or so they said.

But after your multiple encounters, you were inclined to believe it was the truth. It was pure cosmic chance that saw him residing in your very own building. He was always polite when you happened to meet him, a bit more reserved, if not shyer, than you might have expected, and you found it remarkably endearing. He had the aura of someone content with their new lot in life, or learning to be.

On an ordinary Thursday, you entered the building after another day of work and headed for the assortment of mailboxes, nearly stopping short when you found him already there, sifting through his mail. He turned his head upon your approach, lips tugging into a small smile that pulled at one cheek more than the other. You tried to ignore the butterflies swarming your stomach.

“Hi,” you said with what had to be a shaky smile. Heavens above, you hoped it didn’t give away the sudden excited tremors coursing through your limbs _too_ much.

“Hi,” he said back, still with that demure smile.

You stopped at your box, doing your best to keep your hand steady as it fit the key into the slot. At merely a foot away, he was so close. Way too close for you to think clearly and talk and act like a normal human being. It didn’t help matters that you could see from the corner of your eye that, for whatever reason, you still had his attention.

For several long seconds that somehow felt like minutes, you simply sifted through your mail side by side, neither one speaking. When it became clear that neither of you was in any particular rush to go on your way, you steeled yourself internally, intending to…well, you didn’t know. Ask him about his day, perhaps. Make small talk. But even that seemed immeasurably daunting. He was an icon, a living legend, not someone you ran into inside your building every now and then and chatted with about the weather like it was any old day.

But if your previous encounters had taught you anything, it was that he was just a man. The close proximity had made you start seeing him in a different light. He’d been Captain America, true, but he was also just a man.

Rationally, you knew that. But no matter how much that was true, it didn’t squelch the intimidation you felt whenever you saw him. And it certainly did nothing to prevent your heart from foolishly racing a million miles per second in his presence.

His well-built, deliciously muscled and mouthwateringly masculine presence, but still.

“Long day?” he said suddenly.

You turned his way, not having expected him to speak. “Oh, yeah. Same as usual, I guess. How about you?”

“Same as usual,” he said with a slight nod.

And with that, you had no clue what else to say. What _could_ you say to a guy like him? Still, he seemed in no rush to leave.

Until he did.

“Well,” he said, displaying his mail like it was his farewell, “I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah,” you said, unable to ignore the stab of disappointment you felt, “I’ll see you.”

He offered a polite, if not somewhat tight, smile before shutting his mailbox and going on his way.

You remained at your box after he was gone, cursing yourself.

Of course he couldn’t wait to leave. He was no doubt used to people who knew how to string more than two words together, and anyone else probably came off as either a simpleton or too starstruck to be worth an earnest attempt at conversation. If he didn’t think you were the former, he had to think you were the latter, and that wasn’t exactly a point in your favor, either.

**. . .**

Several days passed before you saw him again. The next was on a weekend, when you were exiting the building and he was coming back from a run. You were bounding down the steps out front when you saw his honed, athletic figure slow to a walk.

“Hey,” you said, smiling automatically.

“Hey.” He panted slightly as he strode closer. It shouldn’t have been legal to look as he did in his running gear that clung to his muscles. “Headed out?”

His eyes flickered over your sundress that reached mid-thigh, and you had to resist the urge to adjust yourself under his attention, however brief it was.

“Yeah, just on my way to an early lunch date,” you said.

“Oh. Date?”

Were you delusional or did you detect a note of disappointment in his voice, as well as how his expression seemed to fall?

“Yeah, I mean with a friend,” you said, eager to clarify. “I don’t get to see her very often and she’s in town this weekend, so…”

His expression lightened almost imperceptibly, like he didn’t want his relief to be so transparent. “Ah. Got it. Well, don’t let me get in your way.” He climbed the steps, passing with only inches to spare between you two. “Have fun.”

“Thanks.” You basked in the split second it took to pass each other, reluctant to escape the radius of his body heat and dismayed when it ended all too soon.

He entered the building without a backward glance, and while a large part of you was disappointed, another part was thankful. He would’ve turned only to find you watching him go like some lovestruck idiot who was way, _way_ out of her league. A girl still had her pride to consider.

You forced yourself back around, only half successful in shaking him from your thoughts as you went on your way.

**. . .**

You really hadn’t thought this one through.

It was a week later and you were at the curb outside your building, staring into the trunk of your car where several large houseplants in heavy pots stared back in wait. It’d been easier to believe you could handle them with no problem back at the nursery where someone had helped pile them into the car, but now that you were faced with the task of transporting more than one of these things up several flights of stairs, it proved to be a little more than daunting.

Bracing yourself, you wrapped your arms around the closest pot and lifted.

Yeah, no.

With a strained noise, you dropped it back down immediately. Then you tried your luck with the others, only to find out you fared no better with them.

Not your finest moment.

Catching your breath, you merely stared into the trunk as though it would magically offer up any sort of aid. None came.

“Having trouble?”

You whipped around to find Steve approaching on the sidewalk, keys dangling from his hand.

“Oh. Hi, Steve,” you said, hands on your hips. “Yeah, I’m just having a little trouble deciding how to bring these up to my apartment…okay, a lot of trouble. Genius me didn’t consider how heavy the soil and pots would be when I got them.”

“You want some help?”

“Oh, I don’t…”

“It’s not a problem. Just tell me where and I’ll get them up for you.”

You hesitated, though you had no idea why. Maybe it was because you didn’t want to seem weak in front of him. Maybe it was the fact that he was going to be inside your apartment for the very first time. But when was an opportunity like this ever going to come up again?

“Sure,” you said. “If you don’t mind.”

“Really, not a problem.”

As he picked up the first pot—with little to no effort on his part—you gathered the groceries that were also stacked in the back and led him inside the building and up the stairs.

“Thanks so much for this,” you said. “I don’t know what I was going to do if I couldn’t get them out of the car.”

“Happens to the best of us.”

Once inside your apartment, you directed him where to place the plant and watched, feeling a bit sheepish, as he brought the rest inside. When that was finally taken care of, you offered him some water, which he gratefully accepted.

“Thanks again,” you said. “I really appreciate it.”

“It’s really no skin off my back. Just being neighborly.”

“Well, let me know if there’s anything I can help out with sometime down the road.”

He nodded gently, glancing around the small apartment. “Nice place.”

“Thanks. It’s not much, but I just moved in this year, so…”

He nodded. “Yeah, I remember. I mean, I remember seeing you move in.”

He’d noticed you way back then?

After taking another swig of his water, he shifted on his feet. Glanced away before looking back. “But, uh, listen…I don’t know if you’d be interested, but…I go to this place a couple blocks down to grab a coffee every now and then. I was thinking it might be nice to have some company next time, someone to talk to.”

You stared.

“What do you think? A cup of coffee for all this plant transportation?” He glanced at the plants to emphasize his point, a fond smile playing at his lips.

“Well,” you found yourself saying, heart threatening to beat out of your chest, “I guess that sounds like a fair trade.”

His smile grew wider, the tension slowly ebbing from his broad shoulders.

“Although you’ve almost got me thinking you decided to be neighborly just so you could get that cup of coffee.”

He ducked his head, chuckling. “It wasn’t exactly on the agenda when I offered, but…doesn’t mean it hasn’t been on my mind every time I see you.”

You had no idea what to say to that.

He wrote his number down before handing it over. Somehow, you were able to write yours back.

“So…it’s a date, then.” He eased backward toward the door, eyes on you.

You nodded, a smile edging at your lips. “It’s a date.”


	4. Pretend Girlfriend || Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For S: "Steve/Reader - 'I’ll explain later but can you pretend to be my girlfriend for a few minutes?'"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Non-consensual/dubious consensual kissing

The party was in full swing.

All across the penthouse, gussied up folks chatted and laughed and took full advantage of the open bar. The team had just come off a successful mission when Tony announced a last-minute party held in its honor for the next evening. The short notice hadn’t deterred people from showing up; there was no shortage of folks in the city who were eager to attend one of his notorious parties.

You were stood by the floor-to-ceiling window that offered an awe-inspiring view of the sparkling cityscape, chatting with a man you’d met earlier in the night. All the way across the floor, Steve stood at the balcony overlooking the lively, expansive room with a woman who’d somehow managed to glue herself to his side every time you saw him. His expression as he listened to her speak, though politely engaged, spoke volumes about his desire to escape.

“Yeah, so I just got on the next flight headed straight to the Hague and did some major damage control,” the man in front of you said. He was some sort of political consultant and, by the sound of it, a frequent jet-setter who was always on the move. He was also, you’d found out, someone who liked to talk a little too much about his high-powered job and how so very important he was.

“Should’ve seen the look on his face,” he said derisively. “I swear, the guy could’ve caught more flies in that mouth than if he’d cast an open net. He thanked me, of course, said he didn’t know what he would’ve done if I hadn’t been there. Frankly, I don’t know what he would’ve done, either.” He rolled his eyes just as his phone went off. He fished it out of the inner pocket of his blazer, hastily throwing out, “Sorry about that. Must be work. 24/7 and all that.”

“No worries.” You looked on as he checked the name on the screen. Truthfully, you were just eager to escape.

“Got to take this.” He was already poised to turn away. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Go ahead.”

He flashed a brief smile, sparing a quick “thanks” and picking up before he’d even finished turning his back on you to wander away.

Relieved to have that over with, you headed straight for the bar where Natasha practiced her bartending skills.

“What’ll it be, friend?” she said once you made your way over.

“I’ll have a daiquiri. Thanks.” You remained standing, leaning an elbow against the bar.

“That guy was pretty cute, don’t you think?” she said as she got to work.

“Oh.” You glanced over your shoulder to see said guy across the crowded room, still talking into his phone. “If you think an ego bigger than the size of Texas is cute, sure.”

Just then, the man caught your eye across the distance, still chatting away. Then he offered what he surely thought was a reassuring smile and held up a firm finger to signal your wait. The guy actually held up a finger like you were just another client he’d be with momentarily.

You were just about to turn back to the bar when a heavy arm came around your waist from behind and you were securely tugged back against a brick wall.

No, a torso.

Before you could even look over your shoulder, a mouth was lowering to your ear, speaking directly into it.

“It’s me.”

The familiar voice was deep and smooth, sending goosebumps across your skin. He spoke lowly so only you could hear, and on top of that, the enticing crisp scent of his cologne was doing ruinous things to your mental faculties. He’d never, not in a million years, ever been that close to you before.

When you chanced a glance his way, it was to see him hovering over you like he had every right, his lips a hairsbreadth away. He didn’t back away, even as you looked up at him. With his arm still clasping you to his chest, he leaned in with a strange urgency and spoke lowly again into your ear.

“I’ll explain later, but can you pretend to be my girlfriend for a few minutes?” His slightly stubbled cheek brushed yours.

The man was holding you out of nowhere, speaking into your ear like you were lovers, and asking you to be his _girlfriend_? A pretend one, anyway. Which did absolutely nothing to calm the stampeding rhythm of your heart.

You inched your face back from his, unsure if you could handle being that close to his lips, his eyes, his face, his everything. You didn’t get far, though. His arm maintained that iron grip around your waist.

“Wh-why?” you said.

“I said I’ll explain later. But right now, just kiss me.”

“ _What_?”

“Kiss me.”

“Like, on the lips?”

Cursing under his breath, he took matters into his own hands and spun you around so you were face to face. Before you could blink, he’d palmed your cheek with one hand and locked the other back around your waist so you had nowhere to go. With your fronts flush against the other, his mouth came down on yours.

Holy. Crap.

 _Steve_. Was _kissing_ you.

His lips tangled heatedly with yours, tugging and caressing in a sensual slide, and holy crap, you had to start going undercover as a fake couple with him more often because if this was his idea of pretend, you couldn’t begin to imagine what it must be like to be on the receiving end of his genuine passion.

His fingers dug into the side of your waist with the greed of a desperate man, and all the while he inched forward like he could never get quite close enough, bodily taking you with him until your back hit the bar.

You were having a full on make-out session with Steve in the middle of the party where everyone could see, and somehow, you didn’t give a single flying fig.

With one final—regrettably so—pull of your lips, he drew back, taking his time retreating so your mouths remained only an inch apart. Your breath mingled with his, and his focus was entirely on you with those hooded blue eyes that trapped you in their gaze.

He stared at you for another moment that seemed to stretch for a lifetime, and then he blinked, as though coming to just then. He shifted subtly with you in his arms, then twisted to look over his shoulder. Still in a daze, you looked as well.

The woman he’d been talking to up on the balcony stood some distance away with a drink in hand, gaping at the sight before her. When she realized two new sets of eyes were on her, her mouth flapped shut and restrained embarrassment took over her features before she scuttled away, as though hoping neither of you would notice.

Steve directed his attention back to you. He leaned in, voice intimately close. “Now I’m spoken for.”

At the same moment, a movement from the side caught your attention.

Nearby, the man you’d chatted with earlier had finished his phone call and stood still as though freshly stopped in his tracks, his expression not entirely different from the woman’s. His eyes flickered between you and Steve, and he was unable to fully mask his look of sheepishness and disbelief. He attempted to play it off with a nonchalant scratch to the back of his neck before turning away, unable to meet your eye as he raised his hand in goodbye.

“And now, so are you,” Steve said, not without an undercurrent of primal satisfaction in his voice. With his hand still clutching your waist, he drew closer, enveloping you in his fresh and masculine scent, and dropped a lingering kiss to your cheek. “Thank you.”

His hand blazed a trail down your side as it slid away, and he stepped back, leaving you immediately bereft of his body heat and intoxicating scent. As he eased away, he gave you one last appraisal from head to toe, eyes heavy with something that had you aching with age-old desire.

His eyes drifted up to meet yours, still laden with that primitive call that tempted your own response, and without saying a word, he managed to communicate that you’d just gotten thrown in the deep end and there was no way he was about to let you get away.

He turned then and left, and you had no idea how long you stood there like that after he was gone. A throat cleared behind you.

When you turned, Natasha was setting a daiquiri down on the bar top. A smirk hinted at her lips.

Face flushed, you grabbed the glass, by some miracle managing to avoid spilling its contents, and scurried away without saying a word.

You were never going to hear the end of this.


	5. New Pet || Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For S: "Bucky/Reader - established relationship. Bucky brings home a new pet, reader is not on board (yet)."

“What is that?”

The t-shirt dangled from your hand like a wet noodle. You’d wandered into the living room, laundry in hand, when Bucky had entered the apartment and called out your name.

In one of his hands was a blue and white pet carrier. Alarming enough.

But most alarming of all was the tiny creature nestled in the crook of his elbow, looking like it’d be perfectly content to live out the rest of its days right there in the safety of those arms.

Staring back with pale blue eyes was a black kitten whose length was no more than a water bottle and whose weight could be no more than a bottle of ketchup.

“Please tell me you got stuck with petsitting and just forgot to tell me,” you said.

“Passed by a free adoption event at the park.” Bucky gestured with the kitten in his arms. “Figured we could use a third roommate.”

“No,” you said automatically. “No. We could not use a third roommate. Bucky, did you seriously just adopt a cat without asking me first?”

“Babe,” he said, stepping forward, “it’s a cat. You know cats. They clean themselves, they know where to poop. Low maintenance.”

“Uh, sure, if you don’t count the food and vet visits and all those other things you have to worry about when you have a pet.”

“I’m going to take care of all that. You won’t be spending anything on her.”

“How old is this thing anyway?”

“This _thing_ is about six weeks old.” He threw you a look. “Already had her first shots and everything. She’ll get ’em again throughout the year, but then she’ll only need an annual shot after that. Spaying is at six months.”

“No. No.” You paced, the t-shirt whipping around as your gestures cut through the air. “I don’t know why you’re even entertaining the thought. We are _not_ keeping that. And I cannot believe you went ahead and did this without telling me! You actually filled out all the paperwork and everything?”

“Wouldn’t have been able to take her home if I didn’t.” He had the decency to look a bit sheepish.

“Well, you have to find some way to take her back. I’m not going to be responsible for a pet, Bucky. We have bills to pay and jobs to do. I can’t worry about keeping a whole entire creature alive on top of that.” You turned for the other direction without any sense of where you were headed.

You heard the sound of the carrier dropping to the floor before a metal hand wrapped around your arm.

“Babe, I told you, I’d be taking care of everything, not you. I’ll take her to the vet, I’ll clean up after her if she makes a mess, I’ll pay for everything. You won’t have to lift a finger.”

You shook your head. “No.”

“Three days,” he said. “Give it three days. She stays, and you still decide you don’t want her by then, I’ll take her back. Promise.”

“You shouldn’t even be trying to negotiate, Bucky. It should’ve been a conversation we already had _before_ you went ahead and got her.”

“Look, I’m sorry, all right? I know it wasn’t cool, and you know I wouldn’t normally do it. I just…I was at the park and I saw her and I just…you know when you see something and you just know somehow it’s going to play a big part in your life?”

“No,” you said flatly.

“Well, I do. I can count ’em all on one hand, and this? The second one. Want to know the first?”

“Don’t care.”

“When I met you.”

“Don’t try to kiss my ass.”

“But I thought you didn’t mind when I do that.”

“Ugh, stop it!” You shoved his shoulder. It was the only defense you had.

He glanced down at the cat still curled up in his arms. “I haven’t named her. I’m going to wait till the three days are up and you decide you want to keep her.”

“Not going to happen. I mean it, Bucky. Take her back.”

“Three-day test run. Three days. That’s it.” He lifted the kitten so it was level with his face, adopting a soft expression meant to entice while the cat just looked off into space like cats did or whatever. Damn thing, using its damn wiles to pull you in with its stupid fluffy fur and its stupid tiny paws and its stupid innocent blue eyes and whatnot.

“Three days,” you said. “That’s it. When the three days are over, you’re taking her back.”

“Right.” His eyes glimmered like he was in the know. “And when you come to the realization that you’re wrong, I’ll even let you choose the name.”

**. . .**

The first day after Bucky brought the kitten home, it did nothing. Just sat in its soft little bed and occasionally met your eye when you glanced over from the couch. As promised, Bucky took care of the food and everything else there was to handle.

It looked so innocent and helpless lying there in its bed like that, doing nothing but luring its prospective human slaves into attending to its every need with its cuteness and vulnerability.

So manipulative.

The second day, Bucky lifted the kitten from his lap and set it down between the two of you on the bed before he headed for the bathroom. You drew your attention away from your book and stared at the kitten. It glanced at you, looked away, then looked back, its big eyes pleading as if to say, _I can has cuddles and kisses?_

Your hand reached out to stroke its fur before you could stop yourself. The cat certainly didn’t seem to mind. You provided it with scratches and pets, and okay, it felt sort of nice to have that kind of physical contact with a furry little creature like that.

Bucky reentered the room and you snapped back, pretending nothing was amiss. He scooped up the kitten.

“What are you doing?” You watched as he toted it out of the room. You didn’t feel a shred of disappointment as he carried it farther away. Nope. Not one bit.

He came back in empty-handed. “You know what you reading in bed does to me.” He grabbed you by the ankles and yanked. You yelped.

He took the book from where it lay across your chest and tossed it aside, and then he covered your body with his large frame, pinning you to the bed.

“How ’bout another form of entertainment?”

Then he went to work and had you panting with need in no time. It didn’t matter the time or place; he always had you needy and unable to think, but for a brief moment as he peppered a trail down your body with an onslaught of hot, open-mouthed kisses, you couldn’t control the tiny sliver in the back of your mind that wondered what the cat was doing at that very moment.

At the end of the third day, you entered the apartment after an impromptu mission that had lasted the whole day. You’d already changed out of your tactical gear, but the aches and pains all over your body were harder to discard.

The sound of the shower came from the bathroom. You were half-tempted to join Bucky, but then a tiny black ball of fluff teetered into view, still a little unsteady on its legs and looking up at you as it neared.

Something in your chest squeezed. Then it did the most diabolical thing and meowed. A high-pitched squeak that had you emitting an embarrassing cooing noise and plopping straight to the floor to gather it in your arms.

“Okay, so maybe you’re not evil incarnate, after all.” You lost track of time as you rolled around and played with the creature that had no right to be as cute as it was.

Sometime later, Bucky entered the room, hair damp and wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. You managed to glance away from the kitten to admire the view. He, likewise, was enjoying the view of you sprawled out on the floor with the kitten.

“Long day?” His mouth was tilted up in a subtle smile.

“You don’t know the half of it.” You giggled when the kitten nuzzled your cheek.

“I left dinner for you in the oven. It’s your favorite.” He went to turn away, then stopped. “Oh, by the way, I’ll go ahead and stop by the adoption place tomorrow since the three days are up.” He nodded toward the cat.

You took her into your hold, shielding her. “Don’t you dare.”

“What, you attached now?”

“You take her back, I will end you.”

“Strong words coming from someone who wanted nothing to do with her.”

“It’s your fault. If you hadn’t brought her here in the first place, this never would’ve happened.”

He bit back a smirk.

“Skylar Whimsington the Whimsical. The third. Skye for short.”

No response for several beats. Then, “Was that English?”

“You told me I got to choose the name. I’m holding you accountable.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Skylar Whimsington the Whimsical,” you said.

“You’re serious about this.”

You gave him a look that told him just how serious you were.

“This is punishment, isn’t it?”

No response.

“Okay. Fine. Skylar Whimsy…whatever.”

“Skylar Whimsington the Whimsical III.”

“That.”

“Skye for short.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Hey, you asked for this.” You smiled and rose to your feet, Skye still in your arms.

“Wasn’t wrong, though, was I?”

“It may have worked out this time, but you do something like this again without consulting me, I will do as I said earlier and end you. Lovingly, of course.”

You pulled him in for a quick kiss. He didn’t resist.


	6. Comfort || Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For RFree519: "How about a 5+1 with StevexReader where she comforts him 5 times and he comforts her once....in whatever ways work for the plot 😉🥰"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the first one before election night in the US. If you don't want to read about politics in your fanfics, don't read.

**1.**

The television clicked off in the middle of the news anchor’s sentence. Steve tossed the remote aside and leaned forward with elbows on his thighs, fingers interlaced. His sigh was heavy and tired.

Across the room in the communal kitchen, you were fixing yourself some dinner, glancing over when the television went off. You could only see Steve’s back, and he was slumped over, head dropped. Though you hadn’t been paying full attention, you’d been unable not to listen in as the news played in the background. You had a pretty good idea of how he was feeling at the moment.

“You all right?” you said. You continued slicing up the butter.

“Define all right.”

You gave your head a weary shake. “Welcome to the club.”

“I don’t know why I do this to myself,” he said, indicating to the news. “You think I’m masochistic all of a sudden?”

“The world is a shitstorm. Always has been, always will be.”

“I’m not sure we can afford to think like that.”

“I’m not saying we ignore it. Not at all.” You carried your plate over to the couch and settled at the other end from him. “It’s obviously important to keep up with what’s going on, but if we let it consume us 24/7, that’s not good for anyone’s mental health, either. Ever heard of doomscrolling?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “No.”

“It’s a thing now. Well, it’s been a thing for a while; there’s just a word for it now. Point is, yeah, we need to be informed. Get frustrated. God knows I am. Let’s fight, call for change…and not forget to breathe every once in a while.”

He studied your profile as you sighed and propped your feet up on the coffee table. “You seem very decided about this,” he said.

“I am. But really, sometimes I’m just as lost as the next person. My only hope sometimes is that I’ll be able to book a ticket for the next flight off-world. I’m thinking Mars.”

“Mind if I join?”

“Be my guest.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, his head shaking. “It’s just…what we do, sometimes I almost feel I can make a difference somehow, do something…I don’t know, good, maybe. But I’m starting to see more and more that that’s just pure idealism on my part. Then I remember that ‘good’ doesn’t mean the same thing to everyone.”

A strange silence fell over the room. You ate carefully and quietly while Steve grabbed his phone from the coffee table and checked it, only to toss it back down with a sigh.

This time, you were the one studying his profile. You held out the plate in offering. “Potato?”

He stared at the baby potatoes smothered in butter as though debating with himself, and then plucked one and stuffed the entire thing in his mouth.

“Who knows where we’d be without dreamers, though?” you said. The atmosphere felt oddly intimate all of a sudden. Your tone shifted to match. “Without them, nothing would ever change. The world has dreamers and doers, and a lot of the time they even overlap. We need both, especially in times where we can’t afford to be apathetic or complacent. You’re doing a good thing here, Steve.”

He stared at the floor.

“As for everything else, the only other consolation I can think to give at the moment…death is the great equalizer.”

He huffed. “Is it weird that that actually makes me feel slightly better in a way? Slightly.” He paused, the muscles of his jaw working. “But we have to make sure all the moments before that count, too.”

You nodded. He stole another potato from your plate.

“There’s more over there, you know.” You tilted your head toward the kitchen.

He got up and tossed you the remote. “Put something good on. Preferably something that doesn’t take place on this planet.”

**2.**

It was a party. All should’ve been well, and it was. Except, perhaps, for Steve.

While everyone was partying up a storm all across the penthouse, he spent a chunk of his time against the wall, ankle crossed over the other and beer in one hand. A few folks here and there were successful in engaging him in conversation, but only for a short while before they were on their way again. He remained where he was, observing the party and sipping his beer.

It wasn’t unusual for him to step back from the limelight at events like this, but something about tonight struck you as different. So when he slipped away from the bustling room to the balcony and didn’t make a reappearance after ten minutes, you followed.

It was a frigid night without outdoor heating, so there were a scant few others, all of whom were at the opposite end of the railing. Steve stood with his hands braced on the railing, and his eyes were fixed on a point beyond the luminous concrete jungle, on the never-ending stretch of blue-black horizon well out of reach.

You stopped somewhere behind him. “Hey.”

His head turned halfway. He hadn’t been expecting anyone. “Hey.”

“What’s up?”

He sighed through his nose. “Getting some fresh air.”

Tentatively, you joined him at the railing, doing nothing but feeling the breeze and breathing the air along with him. The distant sounds of honks and sirens were a symphony of big city life.

“It’ll never cease to amaze me how many people go about their lives in the same confined space,” he said, tone pensive. “Together, but not really.”

And that was when things fell into place for you. The way he’d stood off to the side, even surrounded by dozens of people, the way he’d escaped to the balcony, the way something in his very being seemed to connect with and call out to yours.

Loneliness. A quiet, deep-seated, insidious feeling, sometimes overwhelming, other times content to linger in the background. The feeling of being in a crowded room and feeling utterly alone. The feeling of being profoundly misunderstood when what yearned to be understood was essential to the core of your being. The realization that you had no one, not really, not in the way it mattered. The fear of what it meant for the future.

“Sometimes I don’t know if it’s better to stay here and be surrounded by millions of people and still feel alone or to just disappear someplace and live in solitude,” you said.

“You can’t, though.”

“Why?”

“Who’s going to come after me when I need that fresh air?” There was a tinge of levity in his tone.

Something tight in your chest eased up. You’d been worried you wouldn’t be welcome and considered leaving him alone like it seemed was his intention.

“Well,” you said, somewhat resigned, “you and I can be two sad little peas in a pod, I guess. Alone, but doing it together, at least.”

You remained next to him, gazing out at the city. Neither of you knew what the future would hold, but for one night, in that tiny sliver of time, that infinitesimal pocket of the universe you occupied for yourselves, you and he were a little less alone.

**3.**

The sound of shuffling had you turning away from the window. Before you, Steve lay on the hospital bed with bandages across his cheek and forehead, and a smattering of purple bruises to boot. He’d just woken up and appeared to be taking stock of the room. When his eyes eventually landed on you, the tension lining his shoulders ebbed and he melted subtly but noticeably back into the pillow. As you drew closer, his gaze returned ahead, as though it cost him too much effort to look anywhere else.

“It was a bad one this time, huh?” you said.

“Nothing I haven’t done before,” he said, voice gravelly. “What are you doing here? Last time I was up, sun was just starting to go down. What time is it?”

“Just after eight. The others came by earlier, told me to keep them updated.”

“Nice to know everyone cares.”

“Come on, Steve. You know we do.”

“You could at least take a seat. Sort of feel like you’re hovering over here.”

You managed a small smile at that and did as directed. “How are you feeling?”

“Could be worse. Still breathing, so that’s something.” There was a glint of humor in his eye when he turned to you. “Not complaining here, but you sure you don’t have anything better to do?”

You tried to match his more lighthearted tone but weren’t sure you succeeded. “I know how it feels to wake up alone.”

He remained quiet. Eventually, he said, “What’ve you been doing this whole time?”

“Reading.”

He shifted his head to look for a book only to find none. “Reading what?”

“On my phone.”

“Is it good?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Want to read it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m not in the mood for TV. Figure we should pass the time somehow, right? Maybe you could read to me?”

“You sure? It’s a romance novel.”

“Read me a romance novel, then.”

With a fond smile, you picked up your phone, said, “All right,” and settled back in the chair.

**4.**

It was London, and you’d just finished up a mission. The team stayed overnight at a nearby safe house afterward, and in the morning you readied yourselves to leave. Or that was how it was supposed to happen. Instead, the next morning seemed to be one for sleeping in. When you woke up slightly sore from the previous mission, you meandered past the others who were still in the midst of slumber and entered the lounge.

There was one person missing.

He’d been on the couch the night before, but now he was nowhere to be seen. It wouldn’t be like him to leave the country entirely without notifying the rest of you, so you assumed he was still around somewhere, if not in the actual house, and would return eventually. You padded back to your room and packed your things into a duffel bag.

It wasn’t until you glanced at your phone that the date registered. It was nearing the anniversary of her death.

By that point, the others had woken up and were milling about the house. You threw out that you were going to grab some food and asked if anyone wanted anything, hoping they’d say no. When they affirmed your hopes, you threw out a silent thanks to the ether and shut the front door behind you, knowing exactly where to go.

He was a solitary figure, still and silent, as you exited the cab and walked up the stone path. The grass crunched beneath your feet until you finally came to a stop. Beside you, he stared at the headstone, hands in his pockets.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he said. “I shouldn’t dwell on the past. It’s not healthy. I know.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” you said, voice soft.

“Why are you here, then?”

You mulled over your response. “Just to be here.”

It fell silent. The breeze picked up, and when you looked up, it was to find the already overcast sky gradually turning darker. It was going to rain, and soon.

The wind rustled through your hair. Steve bowed his head in remembrance before nodding gently to himself. Then he stepped forward and laid a hand at the top of the headstone.

After a few moments, he stepped back to your side, eyes still ahead. “I’m ready now.”

You didn’t ask what for. You just turned and walked with him out of the cemetery, wondering if you’d just made an enormous faux-pas by showing up. Maybe it was meant to remain a private moment. Maybe he decided it was time to go only because you’d shown up.

But with the way he seemed content to keep you by his side, how his stride shortened to match yours as you strolled together in comfortable silence, you thought maybe you’d done okay.

**5.**

He’d just come back through the portal. He was still in his suit, still carrying the metal case that contained the stones, except now it was empty. He’d gone back in time to restore the stones and, with them, the natural order of things.

“Good to see you back, Cap,” Sam said. He and Bucky stood by Bruce, who operated the controls to ensure Steve’s safe return. “Everything go as planned?”

Steve stepped down from the platform. “And then some.” He handed the case off to Bruce.

“Well, now that that’s taken care of, we can all rest a little easier,” Bruce said. He glanced into the distance to where the ruins of the compound still smoldered. “Don’t know what we’re going to do about that situation, though.”

“We’ll get through it,” Steve said, “figure something out.”

Something about his tone didn’t sit quite right with you. It was subdued, almost reflective. It shouldn’t come as a shock considering the ordeal you’d all just gone through, but something told you what had him preoccupied ran deeper than that.

While Sam and Bucky helped Bruce pack up all the gadgets and gizmos, Steve turned and ambled away, not stopping until he cleared the wizened trees and the river was in plain view. You looked back at the others, finding them busy with their task. Without giving it a second thought, you turned in the other direction toward Steve.

He stood still with arms folded across his chest. The river flowed calmly, like it hadn’t been witness to a showdown of universal proportions. It didn’t care, and the breeze presently blowing through your clothes didn’t care, either. Nothing around you cared, yet you’d all fought for your right to exist among them.

“How’d it go?” you said.

“It was okay.” He sighed, looking out at the water and the greenery of the vegetation. “What now?”

It was a question you’d asked yourself plenty. Where did you all go from there? How did you start to rebuild, remember, move on? You didn’t know, so you told him just that.

“When we have a clear-cut enemy, that’s scary enough,” you said, “but then when we have no idea what’s ahead and all that’s left is uncertainty…”

“It’s a new world, isn’t it?” he said. “At least for now. Soon it’ll go back to its old ways—if it never stopped to begin with. But for now…new beginnings.”

You nodded. “New beginnings.”

He peered at you from the side. “Think we might deserve one of those, too?”

“It’s a possibility,” you said, but you knew he understood what you meant. That your answer was just a coy alternative to the firm and earnest ‘yes’ you really wanted to give.

Either way, you’d soon discover he took the phrase to heart. He passed the shield on to Sam, stepping down from his role. He wasn’t completely out of the game, but he would no longer hold the mantle of Captain America. It came as a shock to everyone, but it was a decision on which he was fully ready to embark.

To new beginnings.

**+1.**

The bar was bustling with chatter and activity when you and Wanda walked in. Together, you weaved through the crowd, looking for your destination, though the puffiness of your eyes hindered your vision slightly. When a hand shot up and caught your attention, you nudged Wanda, saying, “Over there,” and made your way to the table.

Around the round hightop table, Steve, Sam, and Bucky sat with their beers. Wanda draped her coat over the back of the chair closest to Sam and remained standing.

“Just in time,” Sam said. “I was about to get up for another round. Anything y’all want? This one’s on me.”

“I’ll have a gin and tonic,” Wanda said. “Thanks, Sam.”

“I’ll just have whatever you’re having,” you said, pulling off your coat and hoisting yourself up onto the only empty seat next to Steve.

“I’ll be in the ladies’ room,” Wanda said. “Let’s hope there isn’t a line.” She walked off, and a moment later, Bucky stood.

“Nature calls for me, too,” he said. “Be right back.” He walked off as well, leaving just you and Steve.

You sniffled, rubbing the inner corner of your eye, and glanced around the bar casually. Then a nudge came at your side. You turned to find Steve watching you closely. He’d wrapped an arm around the back of your chair, bringing you closer than you were used to with him.

“Everything okay?” His voice was pitched low, making it clear it was meant to be a private conversation. The frown on his lips told you he was concerned, but the deep groove between his eyebrows darkened his face and made you think he was angry on your behalf, like he was ready to fight someone. You didn’t know how to feel about that.

“What do you mean? Everything’s fine. Why?”

“You just…look like you’ve been crying.”

“Oh,” you said, laughing under your breath. “Well, yeah. Yeah, I was.”

“Who did it?” He looked deadly.

“What, trying to defend my honor?” You rolled your eyes. While a small part of you was flattered that he cared so much, a larger part was annoyed at what seemed to simply be a display of male ego.

“If someone did something to upset you, I’d like to know. Not ’cause I don’t think you can handle it but ’cause that’s what you do when you—” He broke off suddenly.

“When you what?”

He made a conscious effort to loosen his tense muscles and sat back in his seat, trying for a more casual approach. “When you care about someone.”

“You care about me, Rogers?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Well, you can rest easy. There’ll be no pistols drawn at dawn on my behalf. I was watching a movie.”

His indignant expression slowly gave way to confusion.

“I was watching a movie right before we got here and I wasn’t expecting it to tug at my heartstrings as much as it did. I was hoping no one would notice when I got here. But either way…” You patted his knee, and he tensed almost imperceptibly beneath your touch. “You can rest easy, big guy. I appreciate the concern, though.”

He brought his glass to his mouth in response, eyes on yours. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he took his time taking a pull on his drink. And though he said nothing else, he kept his arm right where it remained around the back of your chair.


	7. Pumpking Carving || Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For LionHeartedSpoon: "Maybe Bucky/Reader where they're carving pumpkins? But Bucky gets a little too into it and gets excited with the knives and general mayhem occurs?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major apologies for getting this out so late! (And apologies in advance to the others that are coming soon.) Can you believe I actually meant to get this out before Halloween? Yeah...that happened...

_Clang. Clang. Clang._

You peeked up from your pumpkin to find Bucky flipping the knives at his leisure. Except he wasn’t merely flipping them from the hilt like a normal person might. Instead, he had one knife in each hand, hitting one sharp edge of the blade with the other before it went twirling in the air above his hands and he recorrected its spin with the other blade. What resulted was a display of twirling knives going fast enough to terrify anyone.

“Bucky! What are you doing?”

“Juggling.”

“Well, stop it. You’re going to cut yourself.” After knowing him long enough, you learned the chances of that in actuality weren’t very high considering his skill with a blade, but it didn’t stop your instinctual aversion to something that was a) very sharp, and b) near you.

“Have to find some way to entertain myself what with how slow you are.”

“Don’t paint me out to be the weird one here. You’re the one with the abnormally high skill level with knives, okay?”

“I’ve always said I can teach you if you want.”

“Eh…” You only half-focused on the conversation as you went about carving your pumpkin. It was supposed to be an owl beneath the moon, and so far you’d only made it about halfway. Bucky had chosen a dreamy nightscape scene as well, complete with a cottage and tree at the bottom edge. If anyone was able to carve it with uncanny precision, it was Bucky. And he had.

You were jolted out of your concentration when you heard a heavy _thwack_. Looking up, you found one of the pumpkins you’d left in the corner of the room with the hilt of a blade sticking out of it.

“Bucky!”

“You were going to carve those, right? I made sure to aim for the top where you were going to cut it off anyway.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Fine. Since you decided to take the first shot, you might as well go ahead and carve the rest of it now.”

He gave a knowing smile. “Then might as well claim the rest of ’em, too.” In a flash, he withdrew another small blade from his person and flung it at the other pumpkin in the corner.

“Wha—” You looked on in bewilderment. “Where are you getting all these knives from? Do you always go around armed to the teeth with knives?”

He didn’t answer. He just sauntered over to the corner to pick up the pumpkin before plopping it onto the table. After emptying it out, what ensued was a blurry commotion of hands and knives as he got to work with the ease of the world’s speediest butcher. You were just finishing up your pumpkin when he nearly finished his second one.

“Still not done?” he said.

“I want it to be perfect.” You wiped your hand with a paper towel only to discover it was already saturated with pumpkin goo. “Hey, I’m going to get more towels. Try not to slash the whole place down.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You promptly left the garage for more paper towels, and when you came back, it was to find Bucky lounging casually in one of the fold-out chairs, his feet propped up on the ice cooler. On his lap was the other uncarved pumpkin, and in his hand was the stencil he was currently using to trace the design…

And right above his head, four knives were firmly embedded in the dartboard like they’d been thrown at full force. Two rows of two blades each, each pair perfectly parallel. You gaped.

“You said you were replacing the board, right?” His tone was perfectly casual as he continued stenciling. He referred to the point earlier in the day where you’d casually remarked that you never used your dartboard anymore with it having grown too old and ratty and having outlived its use and that you were going to replace it soon.

Still… _still_.

“Don’t worry, it’s on me.” Bucky finally looked up only to find your eyes blazing down at him. His teasing smile slowly morphed into an apologetic one. “…And so’s dinner?”


	8. "I'm Fine" || Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For LadyDia: "So, I've been enjoying your work and I have an unusual prompt. https://www.amazon.com/Graphic-Zombie-Halloween-Injury-Novelty/dp/B015G0F03U/ref=mp_s_a_1_1_sspa?dchild=1&keywords=im+fine+bloody+shirt&qid=1604249468&sprefix=im+fine+bl&sr=8-1-spons&psc=1&spLa=ZW5jcnlwdGVkUXVhbGlmaWVyPUEySkdPSEVJR0gzRTJHJmVuY3J5cHRlZElkPUEwNTAwMTY3MzZBMlNFQldGUzVYRSZlbmNyeXB0ZWRBZElkPUEwNDMyMjE3MjZZMUFQNTBSOVJMVCZ3aWRnZXROYW1lPXNwX3Bob25lX3NlYXJjaF9hdGYmYWN0aW9uPWNsaWNrUmVkaXJlY3QmZG9Ob3RMb2dDbGljaz10cnVl#immersive-view_1604249510056
> 
> The prompt is this tshirt. Someone should wear it- I don't care who. Is it one of the team? Is it a bystander at a fight? Maybe an overreaction to a perceived injury leads to a meet-cute? (I am happy with any and all pairings.)  
> Thanks in advance!"

“He likes you,” Natasha said for the hundredth time that week.

“He does not like me.” You took a sip from the water bottle. Seated on the bench in the compound gym, the two of you awaited your turn while the topic of conversation sparred with Sam just up ahead, his vibranium arm decidedly less lethal than you knew it to be.

“You think he’d let you borrow his water bottle if he didn’t like you? Guy guards that thing like a dragon hoards gold.”

“Since when has that ever meant anything?” You were aware it was some sort of state-of-the-art insulated water bottle he’d picked up during his time in Wakanda, but it was still just a water bottle.

“Since it became obvious to everyone in this building that he does that with exactly zero living souls,” Natasha said.

“I think you’re delusional.”

“I think you’re in denial,” she said coolly before rising from her seat.

Sam and Bucky had just finished their round, one which saw Sam panting and wiping the sweat from his brow as he approached the bench. Bucky strode in the opposite direction toward his bag, looking significantly less winded than Sam. It was safe to say that both men were in admirable shape, and the clear rigor of the workout Bucky had put Sam through was merely a testament to his strength.

“Might want to brush up on those skills, Wilson,” Natasha said as Sam grabbed a towel and wiped his forehead. “Looks like you’re letting yourself go.”

“Yeah, keep talking. We’ll see how it goes when it’s your turn to go at him,” he said between breaths.

Her smile said she looked forward to it. She turned to you. “Looks like we’re finally up.”

While she left for the mat, you took another sip from Bucky’s water bottle, turning your head and inadvertently locking eyes with the man himself. He didn’t look away. You promptly tore the bottle from your mouth and double-checked your hand wraps, pretending Bucky hadn’t been looking at you with that strange heat in his eyes that was decipherable even from across the room.

“How much you want to bet he’s sticking around for this one?” Sam said, smirk pulling at his lips.

“Shut up,” you muttered, brushing past him. Sam wasn’t staying to watch; he was headed off for a shower before meeting a friend for dinner. As for Bucky, it was perfectly normal for him to stick around to observe other rounds. It had nothing to do with you. Absolutely nothing.

It would soon turn out he didn’t stick around anyway. As you stretched some more for good measure, you noticed Steve come in and mutter something to Bucky before they were both gone from the room. After sparing it a fleeting thought, you heaved off your hoodie and threw it aside, revealing the shirt underneath.

“Interesting shirt,” said Natasha.

“It’s an icebreaker.” It was a gray tee with a frighteningly sizable chunk of dark red haphazardly pooled across the side to make it look like blood. Across the chest it spelled out in black, “I’m fine.”

Soon, all errant thoughts were cast from your mind as you focused on your spar with Natasha. It was an understatement to say she was a challenging opponent, but she’d also been the one to help train you, and it made you that much more effective.

Two rounds and no doubt a handful of developing bruises later, you were splayed out across the mat in an effort to catch your breath.

“You’re really giving me a run for my money.” Natasha sat up from her similar position on the mat and braced an arm on her upright knees, breath coming out in pants.

“I better be,” you groaned out.

Just as she stood and prepared to extend a hand, the door to the gym opened, followed by a sharp, “What the hell happened?”

In the time it took you to rise to a sitting position, Bucky had made it across the room to your side. His hands were on you in an instant, one gripping your arm and the other supporting your back.

“Bucky, what are you doing? I’m okay.” You were too taken aback to resist. He was normally so cool-mannered, so hard to read that it was such a sight to see a break in his composure. It was one of the reasons you’d never been able to believe he could feel anything for you. He somehow seemed beyond all that, as though he operated in his own plane of existence. In a word, he was an enigma.

His eyes were zeroed in on the “wound” at your side. “Jesus, you call that okay? What happened while I was gone? What the hell’d you do, Romanoff?” Accusing eyes were aimed her way.

Natasha’s response was a slight narrowing of the eyes that spoke of a mixture of offense and amusement. You wrapped a hand around Bucky’s arm.

“Bucky—” You broke off when the thought of the coming explanation had you breaking out into laughter. Soft, breathy laughter, but there nonetheless.

“Quit laughing,” he said. “We got to stop the blood. Why the hell hasn’t anyone done anything?” His expression was so serious, so indignant on your behalf. He was showing his emotions in a way you’d never seen before, all because of you. It was a game-changing discovery you knew you’d steep in later when you were alone, but for now, you had a worried-slash-angry super soldier to reassure.

His shirt was pulled off his back in an instant, and he was just about to press the crumpled-up fabric to the pool of crimson when you stopped him. “It’s just a shirt!”

“What?” It was clear he wasn’t really listening with the way he evaded your hand and reached forward again.

You caught his hand. “Bucky, stop! It’s just my shirt! See?” You pulled at the shirt so the fabric was taut and plain to see for what it was. “It’s part of the shirt. I’m okay. You really thought this was real blood?”

“Either your eyesight’s not where it should be,” Natasha said to him, “or you’re just blind when it comes to her.” With that, she walked off.

You didn’t want it to come off like you were laughing at him, not when he’d shown you a completely different side of himself, but it was impossible to hold back. “I can’t believe you thought this was real.” In response, he was just short of scowling. You placed your hand on his arm. “Hey. Thank you for caring, though. Really. Nice to know what you’d do if I really had been hurt.”

He appeared taken aback for a moment, as though he’d been unaware of his little display, before his expression returned to one of being cool and remote. He rose to his feet with his shirt still crumpled in his fist. “It looked real enough from a distance.”

 _And up close?_ , though you held your tongue.

His throat worked as he swallowed. He stood above you, bare-chested, imposing figure taut with tension. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the gym.

Enigma, indeed.


	9. Tattoo || Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For S: "Secret tattoo: Steve realizes his partner has a tattoo he didn't know about yet (established new relationship??)"

Summer in the city. An expression you knew of only in the periphery of your knowledge. Something that evoked images of a blazing sun shining down on a bevy of pedestrians gunning for their next destination whether it was the beach or the air-conditioned refuge of their apartments, and the swaths of blooming green that were designated havens in an otherwise concrete jungle. Never quite before had the expression evoked a sense of calm, a strange cosmic feeling that you were right where you were supposed to be.

You walked through Central Park, hand linked with Steve’s, and crossed the footbridge until you ended up at the edge of the water where a cluster of people sunbathed. Together you found shade under a tree, your backs to the trunk with a blanket spread out beneath you.

“I swear I could fall asleep right here,” you murmured. He hummed contentedly in response. It was a dreamy afternoon. If not for the prickly feel of the grass and the distant chatter to ground you, you could almost imagine you were up in the clouds somewhere.

You raised your arms to stretch, taking your time and relaxing enough to melt against Steve, your head eventually finding its way onto his lap. “Do you think there’s another us somewhere?”

“Hmm?”

“Another us. You and me. Different reality, different place.” You shrugged. “I don’t know. Anything’s possible.”

“After what we’ve seen, I’ve learned not to rule anything out,” he said.

You shifted your position to get more comfortable. Then you spotted something up in the branches above your head. “Oh, look. A cardinal.” You pointed upward with your index finger.

Steve followed your gaze. “Good luck?”

“Depends on who you ask. Some say it’s a sign of good luck. Others say it’s a visitor from heaven saying hello. You know, if you believe in heaven.”

“Hmm.” His attention was on your hand that now rested on your stomach. He took your hand, singling out the index finger you’d used to point with. You knew right away what he was seeing. “This what I think it is?”

“Mm-hmm.” You watched as he examined the black ink. “Thoughts?”

“I think it suits you.”

You gave him a small lazy smile.

“Going to tell me why this one?” he said.

Why an infinity symbol, he meant. It was an unassuming tattoo, basic in design and tucked away on the side of your finger, but it was easy to find if one thought to look for it.

You shrugged. “I don’t know. ’Cause it reminds me that life goes on. It’s a reminder that everything has its place, its time…that everything comes and goes. But even then, maybe some things really are infinite. And if they are, they’re probably far beyond my comprehension. But I’m okay with it.”

He absently brushed a finger against your own, murmuring, “That both nothing and everything last forever.”

“Scary thought, isn’t it?”

“Depends on what you’re talking about.”

You took him in then, how his face was somewhere above yours, how the pair of you were sharing a moment underneath a tree that would amount to less than a mere blip in the grand scheme of time. But every moment with him was a universe unto itself, every breath rife with meaning, even if that meaning was one of your own fallible human making.

Then you said, “So, how’s that for the obligatory oh, so deep story behind the tattoo?” He laughed and you continued, “What about you? Do you think you’d ever want one?”

“A tattoo? Well, I guess never say never, but no, it’s not something I’ve ever really considered. Guess yours will have to do for both of us.”

You shared a small smile, and with that, you resettled against him and watched the clouds go by.


	10. Wisdom Teeth || Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For S: "Surgery: reader has a reeeeeaaaallly minor surgery (maybe wisdom teeth or tonsils or something) and Bucky worries. a lot."

“Bucky, will you quit worrying? It’s a routine procedure. They do this sort of thing all the time. Everything will be fine.”

“You don’t know that.”

“But I kind of do.” You sat beside him at the oral surgeon’s office, waiting to be called in. “The chances of something going wrong are extremely low.”

He shook his head, arms folded across his chest. “They always say that, and then before they know it, they’re the ones that have something go wrong.”

“You know, if you had such serious objections, you could’ve said something before everything was finalized.” When he stayed quiet, you said, “Come on, you’d rather I keep my wisdom teeth even if they cause me those insane toothaches?”

“Never said that.” He glanced around the waiting room, pretending to be bored. “Just wish we didn’t have to bother with these things at all.”

“Don’t blame me; blame evolution. You know what vestigial part I kind of wish we’d kept? Tails. Wouldn’t that be kind of cool?”

“Just promise me you’ll get out of there at the first sign of anything that might come off as shady,” he said, now turned to look at you.

“What? Jesus, why are you talking like I’m about to undergo surgery for an organ I found through the black market? This surgeon is very reputable and comes highly recommended. This isn’t…”

 _This isn’t HYDRA_ , you’d nearly said. _This isn’t HYDRA where they routinely forced you into cryo for their own purposes_.

Your mouth ran dry, and you instantly felt like an idiot. You gently took his hand. “Bucky. Hey, it’ll be all right, okay? Like I said, this is an incredibly routine procedure. I’ll be in and out before you know it, and then we’ll be home and you’ll be able to film me looking like an idiot all doped up on meds.”

After a losing battle of fighting back his smile, he capitulated. “That’s a thing?”

You laughed. “Trust me. You don’t know the half of it.”

**. . .**

“ _Uugghhh_.” Was it only in your head? Or had that ghastly sound actually escaped your mouth?

“She speaks. Kind of.” Bucky chuckled softly and you felt the mattress dip beneath his weight when he sat down. After returning home, it’d taken a while before the wires crossing between your brain and mouth were back in business. Your voice had finally made a reappearance, however much it had you sounding like you’d just woken from a fifty-year slumber.

“What time is it?” you said. You were still a little groggy.

“Almost four. Here, open up.” He gently eased your mouth open before sticking his fingers in. You distantly registered the feel of the glove against your teeth. He pulled out the bloody stack of gauze before replacing it with a clean one. “Bite down.” You did as directed, then he laid the ice pack against your cheek. “Time to put it back on. You good to hold it?”

You grunted in the affirmative as he helped you replace his hand with your own.

“Can’t wait to look like a chipmunk,” you said, the speech garbled with the way only one side of your mouth was free.

“’s all right. I like chipmunks.”

“Did I do anything stupid?”

“Define ‘stupid.’”

In lieu of a worded response, you managed to cover his face with your palm, pushing him away.

He gently pried your hand away and smiled. “I didn’t film you if that’s what you’re asking. Thought about it, but then you came out in that wheelchair. Your eyes were closed the whole time, and your eyebrows were pulled together like you were some math whiz trying to solve the world’s toughest equation. Couldn’t even speak, poor thing.”

“That’s actually really sad.”

“Plus, I needed to get you in the car. Get you back home where you could rest properly and get to looking like a chipmunk.”

“You like chipmunks.”

The corner of his mouth tilted up. “Yeah, I do.”

You stretched as much as you could in your position and flopped to your side, your muscles feeling pleasantly loose. “’s okay. I’ll be all right.”

A brush of his hand against your hair. “I know.”

“You’re not worried anymore?”

“No, babe.” He leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Not anymore.”


	11. Stuck on the Rooftop || Steve & Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For S: "rooftop: locked on the rooftop by accident (steve or bucky or both???)"

“There! You see it? You can see the rings.” You barely refrained from jumping with enthusiasm and scooted over so Steve could peek at Saturn through the telescope. The rooftop was empty but for the two of you, but that was to be expected. No one ventured to the rooftop of the upstate compound much. With few artificial lights in the immediate vicinity, however, it was an ideal spot for stargazing.

“Yeah, I see it,” Steve said, one eye squinted closed. “Think I see one of its moons, too.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s supposed to be Titan, its biggest satellite.” You turned your face up to the night sky, wonder and excitement reflecting in your eyes. “How cool is this? We’re looking at a whole other planet literally a billion miles away, and that’s just with this little telescope. It boggles the mind.”

“It’s beautiful,” he said, that same wonder seeping into his tone.

“And tomorrow we should check out what time the ISS passes overhead so we can see it. And then we can check out the moon again when it’s dusk so we’ll see those deep shadows the mountains and crater walls produce. Did you know with the right equipment you can shoot a laser at one of the reflector modules up there and have it bounce back? It’s basically definitive proof that there are human-made objects up there. Isn’t that amazing?”

He pulled back from the telescope enough to peer at you, a teasing glint in his eye. “You’re kind of cute when you’re geeking out, you know that?”

You’d never been so grateful for the night sky. If it were any brighter, he’d have seen the heat overtaking your face like a rash. The most the two of you had ever done was some light flirting, and a part of you was glad for it. If it were any more than that, you didn’t know if you’d be able to retain your bearings or if you’d just cease to function as a human being altogether. In no way could Steve be described as a habitual flirt to anyone, so you figured maybe he felt comfortable enough around you to show another side of himself. Like you were a friend. An all too easy to tease friend. That had to be the answer, because there was no fathomable way someone like Steve could ever be interested in you.

“Oh, shut up, we’re all geeks about something,” you said, pushing him aside so you could take over the reins at the telescope. Of course you weren’t offended, not even by a fraction—in fact, you and most everyone you knew would take the geek remark as a compliment, and _he_ was very much cute himself when he was geeking out about something he was passionate about—but you didn’t know how else to respond to him when he was being all weird and soft and complimentary.

He didn’t say anything, but the companionable silence was interrupted when your stomach emitted the sounds of a dying cat.

“Hello,” Steve said. “Someone’s cranky.”

“I haven’t really eaten anything all day. Things got kind of busy.” You pulled back from the telescope. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to grab some food. Want anything while I’m down there?”

“Wouldn’t object to some more of that beef jerky.”

“Hey, no eating all of it this time.” You reprimanded him with a pointed finger before crossing to the rooftop door. Except when you pulled to open it, it didn’t.

“Uh…Steve?” When he didn’t answer, you turned to find him immersed in the telescope. “Steve.”

“Yeah.” He spared a glance over.

“The door won’t open.”

That made him look. “What do you mean it won’t open?”

“I mean it won’t open. It’s locked.” You pulled on the handle as demonstration, only to be met with steel-clad resistance.

“What do you mean it’s locked?” He crossed the rooftop and had his own turn at the handle.

“It was never locked the other times I came up here,” you said.

“Well, someone must’ve changed it.”

“Can’t you do something? Like, kick it down or bash it in or something?”

“I’m not really interested in explaining to everyone why I obliterated a steel door.”

“It’s that or be trapped up here.” You figured he was capable of using himself as a battering ram to get the door down if he was truly up to it, but it didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt like hell. You didn’t want to force that on him.

“Maybe we can call someone. No, but everyone’s gone,” he said, turning aimlessly and looking harried. Any agents who worked at the compound would’ve been gone by now, and the rest of the team was away on a mission, with the exception of…

“Bucky,” you said. “We can call Bucky. He should be close by now.” He was riding all the way up from D.C. and was set to arrive that night. But after three consecutive calls, there was still no answer. “He isn’t picking up.”

“Of all times for him to be the worst at picking up his phone,” Steve said, hands on his hips.

With the blooming anxiety of being trapped up there hampering any desire to do more stargazing, you spent the next half hour sitting on the concrete with your back against the exterior stone wall while Steve wandered around. You tried getting in touch with other people, unsurprised when nothing came of that. You’d gotten up and were at the edge of the rooftop where you were peering down at the ground alongside Steve when the door at the far end suddenly opened.

“Guys?”

“Bucky!” You were already moving toward him, your arm reached out to warn him, but he was already clear of the doorway. “Hey, wait, don’t—no, no, the door, don’t—”

The door clamped shut.

“Bucky!” You hurried back to the door and pulled at the handle, knowing it’d still be locked.

“What just happened?” he said flatly, as though it was already dawning on him what had happened and dread was beginning to take root.

“Damn it, now we’re all stuck!”

“You were stuck up here?” he said.

“Still are, seeing as we’ve been trying to reach you with zero success and the only person who could’ve helped is now trapped up here with us,” Steve said.

Bucky ran the tip of his tongue along his lower lip in dismay. “Must’ve left the phone on silent.”

You groaned. “Now we’re stuck here all night. We don’t even know when the others are getting back.”

“Look, maybe it’s not so bad,” Bucky said. “Maybe someone else’ll come along. Plus, at least we won’t run the risk of going hungry.” He held up a crinkled paper bag you hadn’t noticed until then. Your mouth practically watered at the promising sight. That was one fewer problem, at least.

“How’d you even know to come up here?” you said.

“No one was in when I got here and I saw your telescope wasn’t where you usually keep it, so I figured you might be up here.”

“So we’re really stuck here till morning, then,” Steve said matter-of-factly. “When everyone else gets here for work.”

Bucky shrugged. “One night’s not so bad, is it? Done a lot worse than that.”

You checked the time. 11:54 p.m. “Mind if I have some food?”

He handed the bag over. “Knock yourself out. That’s what I got it for.”

While they loitered, you resettled against the wall and had your fill, leaving some for them, after which your eyes grew heavy. It was a breezy spring night—not the dead of winter, thankfully—but temperatures were still low enough that it wasn’t exactly a balmy, relaxing atmosphere. The small blanket you’d thought to bring out with you beforehand was able to do only so much.

You didn’t pay voice to it, but when Steve and Bucky noticed your less than ideal situation, they wandered over to where you sat at the wall, popping a squat right on either side of you.

“What are you doing?” You pulled the blanket up over your chest for extra warmth.

“Looks like someone’s got the shivers,” said Bucky.

“We’re here to make sure she keeps warm,” said Steve.

“By doing what?” But the answer was already clear. They’d slid up against your sides, their legs, hips, and arms touching yours, encasing you in their body heat. In short, you were the meat in an extravagant super soldier sandwich.

“Better?” Bucky said, his voice far too close to your ear. You simply nodded, shifting to get more comfortable but never losing contact with their limbs.

Oh, this was much better. You wagered you just might even be able to fall asleep like that. You made sure the blanket was spread out as much as possible to encompass everyone, then gave no second thought when you let your head droop to the side to fall on Bucky’s shoulder. Much better than having it loll back against the stone.

With the two sizable men surrounding you with their warmth, you settled in and managed to find sleep.

**. . .**

“Boy, they’re really kind of cute when they’re all vulnerable and harmless, aren’t they?”

“How long you think they’ve been up here?”

“Hey, did you get that picture? They’re going to love this.”

The unregistered words swam through your consciousness. You thought maybe it was still a dream.

Then an abrupt nudge came at your foot, and you jolted awake.

“Rise and shine, folks. We provide room and board here for a reason. Namely, so you can, you know, make use of the room.”

Eyes squinted against the daylight, you lifted your head from…oh, that was Steve’s lap. And your waist…oh, that was currently trapped in place by his arm. As for your legs…well, they were all tangled up with Bucky’s. The blanket was similarly tangled up among all three of you.

“And she returns to the land of the living. Hey, welcome back.” Tony’s smiling face shone down at you. Beside him stood Nat, Sam, and Wanda, all with similar smiles. Beside you, Steve and Bucky were stirring awake.

“Real cute picture the three of you made,” Natasha said. “First time?”

“We were locked on the roof,” you said, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Couldn’t get down.”

“Sure looks like you made it just fine up here on your own,” said Sam. “Y’all looked so cozy I was almost tempted to join myself.”

“All right, if the show’s over, we’d like to retain at least some of our dignity if you don’t mind,” Steve said as he gently eased apart from you and rose to his feet, his voice sleepy and satisfied.

With a few more chuckles, the others gradually filtered out, leaving just the three of you. Bucky was awake but hadn’t moved from your side. Steve looked down at the two of you with a slight, unreadable smirk.

“Like Bucky said, we’ve done a lot worse for ourselves,” he said.

Your response? Simply to let out a tired groan and flop back in the other direction right onto Bucky’s lap. The man gave no protest.

“Five more minutes, Steve,” he said, his voice coming out a pleasant rumble.

With an amused head shake, Steve’s eyes ran over your sleepy forms one last time before he turned for the rooftop door, this time making sure to leave it open.


End file.
